Finding Strength In Weakness
by Elisa Miller
Summary: In a world where people are ruled by their instincts, divided into categories (primarily Dom, Sub, Switch), Natasha always had an advantage on people. She appeared to be without a designation. It was hard won, but now it was all she knew. And she needed it, the anonymity. The Independence. Or so she thinks.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Natasha couldn't wait to get back to her own bed. Today had been one of those days where it made a person wish they had never left it that morning. Natasha rarely allowed herself the luxury of such an attitude. She had been through worse, she could handle it. It wasn't even hard to handle it. Not really.

The toll it took was mostly an emotional one. The physical threat had been minimal, tech outside of what certain government agencies could comfortably deal with, but nothing in the face of Tony Stark's gadgets. None ever held up to that.

They had been called in, Natasha, Clint, and Steve. Tony had been working behind the scenes, of course. Bruce had been helping, she was almost certain. The three that had been called in were being used to rein in this episode's bad guy once Tony (and/or Bruce) got a lock on each of their tech pieces and made them into very bulky, very ugly art.

Recognizing that they had little chance once their weapons were de-weaponized, they put up surprisingly little resistance.

No, physical demands were very little today. The fact that the ring leader had been a woman who had holed up in an elementary school had taken the difficulty level through the roof. She had, correctly, assumed that taking refuge in a place with so many potential victims would slow the process significantly. No one was going to risk barging into an unknown situation, to apprehend an unstable criminal, surrounded, not only by potential victims, but young children potential victims.

They had managed to resolve the situation with only seven people in the hospital: two teachers trying to protect their students, a janitor, two older boys who had tried to gang up on the woman, a girl who had gotten in the way, and a young boy who had a severe asthma attack. The worst injury between them was one broken rib and one concussion. Some scrapes and bruises, a sprain, a pulled muscle here and there, but there had been no casualties.

All in all, it was a win. The damage was all the emotional toll, of knowing that, had they not managed to settle things the way they had, any injuries or deaths were on them. As easily as it had gone, it could so easily have gone wrong. And if it had, it was children that were going to suffer.

It was always worse when it was children.

Clint had taken off already, headed to his farm to see his children and wife. These always hit too close to home for him. Natasha had sent her love, telling him to squeeze them extra tight and give them each an extra kiss from their Auntie Tasha.

Clint had tried to just bring her home with him. It had been tempting but Natasha knew what she really needed. Time to "recharge." Clint had tried to convince her she could do that on the way, or once they got to the farm. He knew how relaxing she found his little strip of land.

He did not know that what her needing to "recharge" meant, was taking those meds she swiped religiously from Shield medical to induce a drop.

It wasn't that she couldn't drop, per se. She most certainly could. Most subs could drop, hell, most had to. The meds she stocked up on whenever she saw had a clear shot at them were more to help switches balance out when they decided to settle into a Sub life. Or to help Subs who had suffered some sort of trauma while in a drop or relating to a drop.

A drop was supposed to be about safety, keeping a Sub calm and protecting them from things that threatened to overwhelm them. When that was threatened, whether due to a solo drop (dropping alone, being left alone at some point in the middle of a drop, or having to fight one's way out of a drop), some form of mistreatment during the drop (abuse: physical, mental, emotional, sexual or neglect) or even just a severe trauma drop. Any drop that the Sub doesn't control happening really, although that only happens in extreme cases.

So, no, Natasha isn't taking them meds because of any of those things (although she has experienced all of those things). She does it so that she can control when she drops, how long she drops for, and ensure that she can come up from the drop on her own with minimal lasting damage. Drops are meant to be supervised, from helping a Sub down in a calm caring manner, to encouraging them to stay down as long as they need, all the way to when they are able to safely come back up, finding their way back to their own mind.

Drops are different for every Sub, and depending on the kind of drop, present differently. The more extreme result in some degree of loss of consciousness, ranging from the barely- asleep stage where they may still be conscious of what happens around them, just unable to interact themselves, to borderline catatonic. The more routine drops may just result in a slight increase of submissive behavior, allowing themselves to defer to others, Doms in particular.

Again, Natasha in intimately acquainted with the entire gamut.

Doms are the most helpful to a Sub in need of dropping or in the midst of a drop. Anyone can handle a Sub in drop, but Doms are equipped with almost an extra sense of what the Sub needs and when. Subs, Switches, and any of the other minority designations may notice the signs, but Doms can feel it. Not just for any stranger on the street, but one that has formed a bond with a Sub will often times know they need to drop before even the Sub does.

Natasha has that bond with several Doms. Unfortunately, they are missing one very specific piece of the puzzle that is the Black Widow. None of the know she is a Sub.

It's not like there is a special marker that tells everyone you meet what your designation in life is. But usually, observing people for more than a couple of meetings tells you everything you need to know. Natasha has been specially trained (conditioned) not to give anyone that power over her.

The Red Room trained them to be expert spies, the perfect assassins. And being ruled by such things as Dom or Sub instincts didn't play into that well. So they were removed entirely. A very painful process to experience.

Natasha had shaken a lot of her training. The killing, while the ability remained, had been stopped long ago. She regained her compassion for human life. Her lack of trust, not allowing people close enough to even know her name, disappeared with Clint. Although that was less due to her own desire to let it go and more with Clint's desire to smash through her carefully crafted walls with so little finesse the Hulk would be proud.

But being without designation, keeping that one little piece of herself under lock and key, that wasn't even an option to undo. She had gone through the process of locking it away once. She was determined to never let it out again. That was what made her good at her job. She would as good as give up her position on the team if she ever let that last little bit slip free.

So she never would.

Natasha laid her pill and water bottle out on the night stand. She had changed into softer lounge clothes from her Widow uniform, and after wiping herself down of whatever grit and grime had accumulated throughout the struggle today, was ready to crawl into her bed and turn of for 2-4 hours, like her chosen dosage of drop medication promised.

She laid her head down, grabbed her drop pillow from under the bed (a body pillow she could fold in half around her top half, making it feel like she was laying between someone's legs with her head in someone's lap), molded it around her, leaned over to take her meds, then settled in.

Her last thought as the world went black is how much she better the pillow would be if it were warm...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Clint stayed home for about a week. He tried to split his time between the farm and the compound as best he could, but at times that was easier said than done. One day around noon he reappeared, bag in hand, looking far less stressed than the last time Natasha had seen him.

"Hey, how was home?" Natasha asked, knowing he loved telling stories about Laura and the kids.

"Home was good. Home was home. Although we could've set an extra place at the dinner table. There's always a seat open for you, you know." Clint reached out to hug her, knowing it stressed her out just enough when one of them was away that the normally distant redhead would welcome the contact. No one was quite sure why she would stress about something like that, or even why it was enough that she was okay with things like hugs once they returned, but no one ever dared mention it.

All of the Avengers were rather tactile in nature. Just in their own little ways. Tony didn't shake hands but he had days where he would only exist within someone else's personal space. When his brain wasn't rapid firing on some project or another, when he had time for his actual human companions, he tended to be stuck to someone's hip. Sitting close enough on the couch to dramatically flop across a lap or splay out enough to twine his feet with someone's legs, it was always something.

The trust needed for this closeness was almost as hard won as Natasha's lack of it. It had been literal years before it became natural for him to be in contact with another human. Bruce had been similar in his need for space, although obviously for different reasons. They had taken extra care to show him they didn't fear him or what he could become. And in doing so they had normalized the Hulk for him as much as for themselves.

Bruce still referred to him as "the other guy" but it was in an almost fond manner now. They had come to learn Bruce was very nearly touch starved, having avoided close contact with almost everyone in his life for years. They knew now not to touch him unless they had actual time to devote to him. He especially liked laying with his head in someone's lap or sitting on the floor leaning against an occupied chair or couch and having his hair played with. Just fingers combing through his messy curls worked miracles on him.

They had learned the hard way that it was all or nothing with Bruce. Although he was a minority designation, a Beta (the layman's term for a baseline human) and an entirely different set of rules applied to him, his response to touch after being deprived of it for so long could easily be mistaken for a routine drop. Subtle but obvious, he melted into whoever laid a gentle touch on his shoulder, stroked his cheek, or put an arm around his waist to pull him close. It was as endearing as it was unexpected, given what an awkward mess of a person he presented to the general public.

It resembled a drop in every way. If he didn't get his fill, he wouldn't ask for more. No, not Bruce. But he would be out of sorts for a time, almost as though he was beating himself up for wanting, even expecting more.

They had all figured out that was exactly the case and made an unspoken vow to never let him settle for any less than what he wanted. Always more than he needed, because they all knew what he needed was much less than what he deserved.

Thor- an alien/Norse god- was a different animal entirely. He was truly like a puppy, an overgrown one, who genuinely thinks their spot is on whatever lap they land on. No, he had never sat on any of them, but the sentiment remained the same. Always with a hand on the shoulder, an arm slung around someone's shoulders or waist, trapping them to his side, sitting full body, shoulder to foot pressed against whoever he had dragged to sit with him on the couch or love seat that night. It was endearing, really. Thor didn't spend much time on world but when he did personal space always took a hit.

Natasha tended to keep her distance. The others, being unable to get a read off her, didn't think to question it. After Steve left on his motorcycle to acclimate to this new century, there was something off about Natasha. No one knew what, but Clint, Pepper, hell, even Tony noticed it. They tried to bring her into their lives more, include her in things they were doing more often, but nothing really seemed to help. Eventually it was Bruce who got her looped in with them again.

He had been at Shield purely by chance, Tony having requested he look over something the Shield lab people couldn't crack.

They had met in passing, Bruce spotting her and changing his course from the resources area he had been heading for, to instead fall into step beside her. He had been going to research a couple of things in Russian, so Natasha could save him loads of time. It was her first language after all.

They ended up going to the resource room anyway, a large library with files and books relevant to everything Shield was involved in as well as tech resources, data banks, and whatever latest model computers Tony had come out with. There were a couple of couches, chairs, a coffee table and end tables in one corner to serve as a break from the uncomfortable desks found scattered everywhere else in the room.

It happened when she perched on the arm of the chair he was sitting in, looking over his shoulder at whatever papers he was reading. She had her arm laid along the back of the chair, resting just above his shoulders and occasionally coming into contact with them. Unintentionally, her arm slid further down as she became more engrossed in the papers until she was nearly leaning on Bruce, arm curled slightly around his left shoulder, hand just hanging naturally at his side.

Slowly Natasha realized Bruce wasn't as enthusiastic about his project anymore. In fact, he sounded less focused than she had ever heard him before. He was responding to her questions but only the bare minimum. She stopped and looked at him for the first time in probably twenty minutes. No, she thought, it couldn't be...

And yet it was. His eyes were unfocused, his expression lax, as though all of his carefully controlled emotions had gotten away from him. Natasha didn't quite know what to do, but she knew she couldn't just leave. Instead she settled in, bringing her hand up to stroke along his arm in short strokes, and tightened her arm ever so slightly around his shoulders. The tone to his responses got a little breathy, his speech just noticeably less enunciated, but other than that, they just continued on as they had been.

About an hour later, Bruce seemed to come back to himself enough to realize what he had been doing. He tensed under Natasha's arm and pulled away a bit. Natasha was having none of it. She let him go, a bit disappointed, but instead of pulling him back to show it was alright, she straightened herself up some and reached out a hand to card through his hair under the pretense of fixing it. In reality, she wanted to relax him again before saying what needed saying.

"This has been nice. It was nice to be needed for something other than my Black Widow skill set." Natasha joked but somehow it felt more like truth than anything. "You seemed to enjoy it too. Maybe we can do this again sometime?"

Bruce looked shy at her bluntness in addressing the situation. But he was still too relaxed to make any attempt to cover up how much he had enjoyed himself. "Um, yeah, I was, it was nice, you were, I mean- you didn't have to do that. But yes, it was very...nice." He finished a bit uncertainly, as though he would be shamed for admitting to such a thing.

Well Natasha wouldn't stand for that. "You can find me anytime you need me. I'm always up for something more mind challenging than body challenging. It was pretty relaxing for me too. Almost therapeutic, wasn't it?" She really needed him to understand that this was okay.

She didn't want to think about why that was.

"Yeah- yes, it was." Now he was really coming back to himself, regaining control of himself, taking the reins again. "Thank you, Natasha. That was far more than what I had initially planned to have you help me with..." He fixed his glasses back onto his face from where they had been sitting on an end table. "...would you like to come back to the tower with us? Me and Tony, that is. We were just here consulting and I should probably go and find him but I'm sure he would be thrilled to have you come back... I think he gets a kick out of having us there with him. Much more entertaining for him than just me, I'm sure. And I know that's not really me paying you back or anything but-"

"Sure, Bruce. That sounds good." Natasha secretly found the rambling sweet, but she didn't want that stress she had managed to rid him of returning so soon. "I probably need to work on being around people again after everything too." Natasha made sure to measure her words carefully, lest she say something that could give her away.

Bruce beamed. "Great! I'll just go find Tony then. Are you free to leave? Should we wait for you or-?"

"No, I'm a free agent for the rest of the day." And with that they collected their things and stood then headed out to the hallway to find Tony and go back to the tower.

And Natasha never really left after that. She meant to, she really did. She just...couldn't. First it was Bruce needing her to stay so he knew what had happened with them was alright, then it was Tony with this, that, and the other thing, and then Clint doing things that Tony kept trying to kill him for, and then it was Steve. He had come back. Finally. And by then she didn't even want to leave anymore.

She refused to acknowledge that there might be a reason behind that. It just happened. And for the first time in a long time, she felt okay. She felt safe, she felt accepted, and, most importantly, she felt wanted.

It was an entirely new feeling, and she wasn't about to let go of it. She would treasure it for as long as she could. Because she was bound to mess it up. She always did.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Steve was a firm believer in a lot of different things. He had always done what he could to stand up to the bullies of the world, had always believed in fighting for the little guy. That hadn't changed with the serum and subsequent transformation from the little guy into one of the bigger guys. The ones who confused size and strength with power and the right to treat others however they wanted.

That hadn't flown with big-Steve any better than it had with tiny-Steve. And it still didn't. His time in the ice had done nothing to dull the passion in him. Unfortunately, now things tended to be on a larger scale than when he started out.

Instead of fighting little battles with Hydra (admittedly not that small but in comparison, they paled slightly to what they faced now), he had moved on to alien threats. Not to say the "little things" were any less important to him, but they tended to get left to others more, just out of convenience. Once you got past a certain point it was hard to go backwards.

He still saw things, still knew things were happening that shouldn't. He had always been a Dom. He hadn't seemed like he would be one, before the serum obviously, but he had been fiercely against submitting to anyone's will unless it was purely out of respect and necessity. Teachers got to assign homework, obviously, parents got to assign chores.

One thing he couldn't stand for was people trying to assign designations. It had happened to him time and again in his pre-serum days. People trying to force him to be a Switch if they were feeling generous, or, more often than not, a Sub.

"No one will take you seriously as a Dom, Steve." "It's just not realistic to think someone could submit to you." "You just won't be able to pull it off sweetheart."

Those had hurt the most because, generally speaking, they were intended to be well meaning. People who were supposed to be his friends even, trying to prevent him from heartbreak further on in life.

His father had been the worst offender when it came to this particular crime. As a Dom himself, he just couldn't stand the fact that his own son was such a disgrace to the title.

So Steve was intimately aware of how often it was for people to try forcing others into boxes they thought more convenient or more fitting. He hadn't stood for it back then and, especially given how much things had changed in the last half century, he refused to let it happen now. Not if he was aware of it and could help.

It just so happened that a mission with Shield brought him face to face with such an opportunity to get back to the basics of helping people.

They were stopping a human trafficking scene, one where tech from the Chitauri and other alien threats had come into play. Their task of tracking down the last bits of alien technology had led them to this particular factory, into the basement, which was not included in the plans filed with the city naturally.

The room was divided into sectors. There were people everywhere. Most of the victims were young adults, mid teens to late twenties. A few looked to be preteens still. Most of the criminals were taken care of already, having been called up to join the fight. The few that were left to handle their prisoners were a piece of cake.

The captives appeared to be drugged and, if their faces and visible patches of skin were anything to go by, beaten well to earn their cooperation.

"Hey Cap," Cling hollered from a doorway down in the far corner of the basement. "You're gonna want to see this."

Well if that didn't sound ominous, he wasn't sure what did.

Steve took off at a jog to get to the door Clint had disappeared through. Peering around the corner hesitantly, his jaw dropped. There were marker boards everywhere, and with pieces of chemistry equipment scattered all around, it could only be some sort of lab set up. In the corner there was a bookshelf filled with file folders.

Walking over to the shelf shed some light on what was going on. There were reports left open atop the fixture, and pictures of several young adults looked up from the files. They all looked worse for wear, much like the victims out in the other rooms.

Along with the photos were what looked to be chemical equations, and- Steve had been part of enough medical procedures in his time to recognize a brain scan. There were key words that kept jumping out of the writing as Steve skimmed it. They all had one thing in common: hormones.

This was some kind of experimental facility. Something to do with brain chemistry. And just as that clicked, Natasha, who had followed Steve into the room, dropped the file she had picked up onto the desk in front of him.

"They're reassigning designations."

Steve felt his stomach drop to the floor. There were few times in his new life as a super soldier that he felt any less than perfectly healthy. This was the first time he felt truly sick.

Natasha knew the formulas. She had grown up seeing them, every session she had in the Red Room lab. The only difference was the outcome. All the same chemicals, the same hormones, the same triggers. And pain. Always the pain.

In the Red Room, they were programming the girls' brains to be without designation. This facility was taking Doms and Switches and making them into Subs.

Most of the discrimination based on designation had been eradicated. Or at least, seriously turned down, to the point it wasn't celebrated in public or polite company within the last fifty some years.

Most of that discrimination was directed towards Subs. They preferred to submit to their more dominant counterparts, and there was a misconception that came in somewhere along the lines that they enjoyed being mistreated. That they were made to be treated as less than the other designations because of their naturally submissive tendencies.

Back in the day, if this sort of thing had happened, it would have been the exact opposite. Everyone wanted their children to be Dom or Switch. Parents were known to routinely attempt to cover up children with a Sub designation by forcing them to drop those submissive instincts.

In present day, that tended to be classed as child abuse.

Now, it makes sense. These people clearly had delusions of ruling the world, so beating the dominance that would threaten that plan out of their prospective subjects was a reasonable, if twisted, step towards that goal.

Steve and Clint appeared to be struggling with the concept still. Steve looked considerably more pale than he had coming into the room. The slight flush in his face from the fighting, long gone. Clint on the other hand had a greyish, bordering on green tint to his normally decently tanned complexion.

The three cleared out of the room as agents came in to deal with evidence and whatever else they need on their end. Walking by the areas the victims were being held, knowing what they knew now was even more horrifying.

One girl in particular caught Natasha's attention. She was by no means the youngest around but she may have been there the longest, judging by the way she was acting. She was among the most sober of the bunch, seemingly aware of what was happening.

She was by herself in a corner of one of the first rooms after the stairs. The agents in the room seemed to be giving her space, since she seemed to be in better shape than the others. There weren't any fresh cuts, her bruises were smaller, less noticeable than the others. Her dark, curly hair seemed fresher, like maybe she had been allowed to wash herself recently.

Natasha knew enough about the process to know it meant one of two things. Either she was easier to break than the others, or she had been there long enough the process had taken and she was just being held for further studying.

Getting closer, evidence of old wounds, scars all over her arms and a few places on her face, supported Natasha's decision of the latter.

Steve approached her slowly, clearly wanting to help somehow. Once he was close enough he reached out a hand to help her up. She looked up at him with wide eyes before immediately lowering her head and folding her knees under her, slipping easily into a classic submissive pose.

Steve looked shocked. "No, it's alright. You're safe now." He was speaking in a soothing voice but it didn't appear to be helping the girl any. "You don't have to submit to anyone ever again."

The girl, already obviously shaken by the events that had unfolded, looked up again briefly before shaking her head. "You don't accept my submission, sir?" Her voice was shaky and she sounded wounded at the though.

"What? No. No, I mean that you don't have to submit! You're a Dom, aren't you? So there's no need to submit to me or anyone else anymore." Steve was clearly struggling with how to handle this.

Natasha stepped in, placing a hand on the back of the young girl's neck. "You weren't given permission to speak yet. You may now, but a slip like that won't be tolerated again." Natasha rarely spoke with such command in her tone, finding it more than a little distasteful.

"Natasha!" Steve exclaimed, looking confused and more than a little angry. "Hallway, now please!"

Natasha followed Steve into the hallway, knowing she was going to get a dressing down, but not really sure why.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Steve demanded, full Dom voice coming through. "Hasn't she been through enough?! We came to help, not continue abusing them!"

"I'm not abusing her. She was conditioned to be a submissive, probably for years. Her entire world just got turned on it's head, again. She had it figured out, her conditioning was complete." Steve knew Natasha pretty well by now, and he could tell, she was not budging on this point for some reason. "You saw her arms, her injuries are all old. It's much kinder at this point to let her have some sense of normalcy. Way less jarring for her right now."

"You can't be serious!" Steve shouted, disbelieving. "You-"

"Now, wait a second." Clint cut Steve off before he could get truly started up. "Natasha might have a point, Cap."

"You're joking! Clint, you don't actually agree with that logic, do you?" Steve couldn't believe what he was hearing! These were some of the best people he knew, they would never condone continuing abuse. They both came from abusive backgrounds! There was no way!

"Well, think about it, Cap. She has been here for who knows how long. If she has truly gone through their whole redesignation process, to the point where she doesn't need to be drugged or apparently beaten to ensure her cooperation anymore..." He looked around at their surroundings as if it physically pained him. "...maybe it is easier to keep treating her like a Sub until we get her some professional help. We don't know how damaging kindness could be to her right now."

Clint seemed to have good thinking behind his reasoning, but still. Steve was having a hard time letting reason have any say in the matter. Seeing a Dom forced to submit that way...struck too close to home.

"Look, Cap," Natasha said. "Look at her. She was shaking before I gave her that command. She relaxed immediately." Steve looked back over at the girl. She did seem a bit more at ease with her surroundings now. "And then when you snapped at me? Your voice, she responded to it. I'm no psychologist, but even I know that you do whatever keeps the victim at ease until they can get the help they need."

Steve looked back again, torn. That was decent logic, but it went against every bit of what he stood for.

"Don't forget, Cap, if she completed the reassignment, she is effectively a Sub right now." Natasha reminded him gently. She must know how hard this was for him to accept.

"Treat her the way a Sub should be treated after a trauma, she should be fine. If she responds poorly, you adjust accordingly. Like any good Dom would." Natasha finished her explanation with a hand to his bicep, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Looking over at Clint, who gave a half smile and a shrug that he took to mean this was the best they could do, he gave up. They had sound reasoning, and they were right about her being in better shape after what Natasha did, so there wasn't much he could argue.

He didn't want to think how the pair had gotten this kind of hard won way of thinking. It goes against everything Steve had ever been taught. To understand what someone might need in a situation like this- well, he preferred not to think of such suffering happening in at all, let alone to people he cared about so deeply.

Clearly there was a good amount of pain hidden still deeper than their current relationship had uncovered. He could only hope he would eventually find the bottom of that seemingly endless pit.


	4. Chapter 3 (03-30 08:55:46)

Chapter 4

After debriefing back at Shield, Steve was lost. Not knowing what to do was a foreign feeling for him. He had never felt so lost in his life.

And he had died in the 40's and woken up in the next century. So that held more meaning coming from him than most people.

Maria Hill was heading his way when he left the room. She stopped and addressed him, "Captain Rogers."

"Something I can help you with Agent Hill?" he asked, trying his best not to sound as exhausted as he felt.

He always had time and energy to help the people he considered himself close to, and as one of the few people who had been acting as the glue that held together the pieces of what survived from Shield, he definitely counted her among that rank.

"Not necessary, Captain. I won't keep you long." She had a decently gentle tone to her voice, for her at least. "Just wanted to get you this new information on your friend, Sergeant Barnes."

He looked down and took notice of the manila envelope in her hand, tucked in towards her body.

Right, he had been waiting for this for a couple of weeks now. After finding Bucky, finding out what exactly had been done to him and all the insanity that ensued, "Civil War" indeed. Nothing on either side had been civil.

It had taken literal years to make them. They had been a team, for a while, mostly in name only. And then, even after, so easily broken. Surprisingly enough it had been a talk with Bucky that had set him on the path to repair what had been broken.

It had been quiet with them for far too long. They had gotten out in silence. They had gotten back to where they needed to be in silence. Now they were nearly to Wakanda, where Steve wasn't sure they would find friendly greeting, but where he was sure they would find the help Bucky needed.

The only other person who could possibly have the technology was… and he had just...they had-

Unimportant at the moment. Unhelpful to dwell on such things. He can't do anything about anything right now.

A trip halfway around the world, and still silence.

Steve had thought about speaking , trying to lighten the doom and gloom atmosphere Bucky was essentially radiating.

"Sorry about that Buck." Steve began awkwardly. He wasn't sure how to go about this, only that he couldn't stand the silence anymore. "About all of that. I don't even know what to say-"

"What the hell, Steve." Bucky cuts him off from what is sure to be a full blown rambling session. "What in the hell was that."

He said it in such a way it was clear he had his own opinion on what the hell it was already. Somehow, even irritated as he sounded, he was still almost void of emotion. It was unnerving.

Steve wondered what all had been done to him to accomplish that. He wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

Steve knew well enough that he could explain it just about any way he wanted, if Bucky was that irritated about it already, it was going to become a thing. Better to get it dealt with now while they were still alone.

"I don't know, Buck," Steve answered honestly. He doesn't feel like he was wrong, but he knows it isn't how he normally would've handled it. "It's just with everything lately-"

"Bullshit."

Steve's head snaps up from where he had been studying his hand intently.

The look on Bucky's face was neutral but the look in his eyes, that was rage. Not a look Steve was used to getting from his oldest friend.

"Come again?" Steve wasn't sure what was happening right now. He did, however, know he needed to tread lightly here. Bucky was a force to be reckoned with before the war, before his stint as a POW, before he was experimented on and then tortured into becoming a brainwashed assassin.

Steve has a feeling that he might be worse now.

"Bullshit. Total bullshit Rogers." Rogers. Uh oh. "You and your buddies have gone through hell together, saving the world, facing down the world's greatest threats, and you did what just now?"

Bucky clearly had a lot to say. Steve was increasingly sure he wasn't going to come out of this in one piece.

"Buck, you know we've been through more together. We've been through life and death together. I think I'm allowed to choose to help my oldest and best friend over trying to imprison or worse, kill him." Steve didn't want to have this conversation. "I would think you, of all people, as the one I sided with, might be a little grateful for that decision. Not trying to shame me for it."

Huh. Turns out Steve was a little irritated himself. This was definitely not leading anywhere good.

"If it wasn't a dumbass decision, maybe." Now there was starting to be some emotion on Bucky's face. "And I'm not talking about that part, although your impulse control may need some screws tightened."

Okay, if Bucky wanted to do this, Steve guesses they'll do this.

"Impulse control? Are we really gonna compare our impulse control now?"

"Yeah, we are. You've never thought a decision through further than executing the plan and we both know it." So they were going in deep apparently. "I left for the war and the little control I had given you over it, what? Just shipped out with me? Didn't even let me leave before you were signing on to be the craziest version of a lab rat imaginable!"

"We've been over this a million times Buck! They needed someone, and it was the only way I was gonna be useful to my country!" Steve knew this was an issue for them, but still? After all this time?

"And then, you get to the war, find out I'm gone, and head out, no plan, no back up, no nothing. And yeah, thanks for that pal. Cause it worked out. But then I fell and then what? You crashed a plane so you wouldn't have to deal with it?" Bucky was looking at him with so much intensity, Steve might have preferred the neutral expression he had been wearing up until now. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure there was more noble intentions to it too, but did you feel anything when you made that call? Cause knowing you like I do, I'm thinking it sounds an awful lot like an excused suicide coming from you."

Steve met his gaze, not answering. He wasn't sure what he would have said if he had been able to find his voice anyway. He had never examined it that closely, never allowed himself to, but Bucky clearly had. And he tended to know Steve better than Steve knew himself.

"And then you woke up. And they told you to fight again. So of course you did. Did you expect to survive that time? Or was it still more of the same? Just fighting without thinking about the future?"

Bucky seemed to be on a roll, but getting the words out also seemed to be helping to calm him down, so Steve just let him continue.

"And, by some miracle, you made it. You didn't get yourself voluntarily killed or anything. I'd almost say I was proud of you. But most of that credit doesn't even go to you! It's your team. They're the ones that kept you safe, kept you around. The Avengers." The look on his face was accusing. If Steve didn't know better, he might have said hurt.

Steve looked at Bucky, waiting for him to continue. After several long moments, it became clear he had no intention to do so. "Okay," Steve finally dared to speak. "Was there a point to all of this? Or did I just let you verbally abuse me for fun?"

"They kept you alive, gave you a purpose, filled whatever void you woke up with. I get that. I wasn't brainwashed the entire time. Bits and pieces of me broke through occasionally. So I get it. What I don't get? How you repay them. By lying? Tearing them apart?"

He wasn't trying to make Steve defend himself, he really wasn't. He just truly didn't understand. None of that tracked with what he knew of his old friend, and Steve knew that.

Maybe he was right. He had learned that his best strategy was trusting his gut instinct. So that's what he did.

But... Bucky was right. Rarely did he take the time to think about what those snap decisions meant in the long run. He didn't usually have the luxury. He could only figure out what was the most effective in the moment.

"You don't understand the whole thing, Buck. There's so much more that-"

"I wouldn't understand. Because I've never been part of something that controlled my every action. That dictated where I went, what I did, how I did it." Oh. Right. "Except that I have, Stevie. But the difference is, I didn't agree with the goals of the ones running me. You had the same goals as the ones running you."

Bucky was always smart. But he had no business being this wise.

Somewhere along the lines he had decided that his best strategy was keeping his team in the dark. Keeping Tony in the dark. They were unknown variables in his mission to save his friend, the less they knew, the safer they were, and the safer his mission was too.

That- was an excuse. Steve sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. His shoulders fell and he looked back at his friend, the person who knew him better than anyone had any right to.

"What do you want me to say, Buck? I messed up? Yeah, I did. A lot, probably. But what can I do about it?" He dropped his head into his hands briefly before folding them and resting his lips against his laced fingers.

Bucky looked like he was completely out of energy to deal with this. In all honesty, he shouldn't have to deal with it anyway. He had enough on his plate as is. He made his way over to sit next to Steve, just close enough their knees knocked together when they breathed.

"Look, I don't wanna offend your delicate alpha-male, Dom sensibilities," he paused, giving Steve a look, with a hint of his old smirk making an appearance on his otherwise serious face. "But you may wanna start with apologizing. Telling them you were wrong, made a mistake, all that jazz. Cause from what I can tell, you've been a real ass to those poor folks, ya know? Cause all they've really done is put up with your sorry self for years."

Steve looked at him, hearing the real Bucky in his voice for the first time, and felt such relief at those words, if he wasn't so emotionally exhausted by it all, he might have shed a tear. Bucky faced him, saw the look on his face, cracked a real, honest to God smile, and said, "Punk."

And all of a sudden everything was okay again. Shaking his head and letting out a brief laugh and sat back, letting his head fall back on the headrest.

"You're right. It'll have to wait though. I don't think any of them are gonna want to talk right now, and we've gotta get you straightened out before we do anything else."

Buck looked at him for a minute before sighing. "Here's what's gonna happen. We get to Wakanda, get my rehab plan in place, giving your team of idiots, and to put up with your shit, they must be, some time to cool off, and then you're headed right back to 'em."

"Buck-" Steve started, protest not a conscious decision, just instinct at this point. "Nah, Stevie, you listen to me. Give them time to cool off, you're right. Nothing good is happening if you show up now. But you don't need to be hanging around with me watching them take my brain apart and put me back together again. I know you're a masochist and all, but it might be a bit much, even for you."

That smirk that Steve was so happy to see not ten minutes ago was going to get old real quick at this rate.

"You don't want this to settle too long. Who knows what extra damage that could do. No, you're gonna take your happy ass back to your team, and beg them to forgive your dumbness- I mean Dom-ness, sorry. Understandable mistake, obviously." Yeah, getting old fast.

"And then, you're gonna find someone to Dom, good and proper. Cause I'm betting you haven't done anything like that at all in this decade, am I right?" Steve avoided his gaze, but that was enough of an answer.

"Not healthy, Steve. You know Doms need to dom just the same as Subs need to sub." And yeah, Steve did know. But this new time, all the new people, he just wasn't sure he could. Or even wanted to. What if things had changed since his day? What if it meant something different now? Everything else had changed, what if this was something new too?

"See? That doubt, that's your sign. Means you're losing it, pal. I'll get myself fixed up, but you gotta get yourself fixed up too. Deal?" Bucky stuck out his hand, the flesh one, to shake on it. Steve hesitated. "I said, 'deal?'"

"Yeah, okay, Buck." And Steve took the outstretched hand. Even that little bit of contact went a long way to settling his still roiling thoughts and emotions.

When Steve looked up, there was Wakanda in the distance.

He had had little to no contact with Bucky since, mostly just getting updates passed directly from T'Challa to Maria Hill, figuring Shield was the one organization safe enough, now that it was being rebuilt with only the purest of the vetted volunteers, to handle such delicate communication.

He was making good progress, "rebuilding his brain" or something along those lines as he had put it. Last Steve had hears, it was nearly to a standstill. All the help the Wakandan tech could give, done. Just waiting on Bucky's brain to fill in the rest.

"Report looks good. I hope everything is coming along okay." Maria Hill was a Godsend, she really was. Personable, yet badass as they come, he was endlessly grateful to her. Especially when handling the Bucky situation. She knew enough to respect the sensitive information, the precarious situation they were all in because of it.

"There is a letter in there from Sergeant Barnes, directly to you. Good news I hope." She smiled at him, genuine friendship peeking through, though still tight enough to remain professional.

He took the envelope she held out, then grasped her hand tightly, shaking and holding, reveling in the casual contact not always accessible but always needed after the tougher missions like today.

"Thank you. For handling all of this. It means a lot." And he hoped she knew that he truly meant it.

"Of course, Captain." And with another brief smile, she pulled away and headed back the way she came.

He watched her go, then looked at the envelope. Better wait to look until he gets home, he decides. But that means going home, and he's not sure he wants to face everyone just yet, after everything they just saw.

Barton comes out of his debrief looking nearly as exhausted as Steve feels. He stops beside Steve, claps a hand on Steve's shoulder and says, " Well Cap, I'm beat. Sleep for a week?"

And so Steve knows he's going home. Someone has to look after Barton, and that someone has to be him (the Dom in him refuses to accept that Clint is an Avenger, and being a Sub definitely didn't mean he was in anyway incapable, at least not after everything that happened today, and he's pretty sure Clint knows that).

Steve brings his arm up around Clint's shoulder and pats his hand on Clint's opposite shoulder blade. Me too, Hawkeye. Let's go."

Nat hated to be looked after. He felt fundamentally wrong leaving her to find her own way back, but he had learned the hard way that she didn't appreciate his Dom-brain after the tough missions. So they headed out.

Steve would just make sure FRIDAY alerted him as soon as she set foot on the premises. Until he knew where all of his people were, he wouldn't be able to truly rest.

Oh, how he wished he could turn that part of his brain off.


End file.
